


This Pull Is Astronomical

by disappearedsock



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Eyes Don't Belong There, Loneliness, M/M, Mild Eye Trauma, Not as jossed as anticipated, OP Archivist abilities, Peter getting what's coming to him, Post MAG 158, Web shenanigans, brief allusions to suicide and death, but also a bit contemplative, canon-atypical discussion of Feelings, implied but intentionally vague mention of character death, less speculation and more wistful thinking, no beta we die like men, tender hand-holding, the power of love isn't always simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 03:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21092897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disappearedsock/pseuds/disappearedsock
Summary: It took Jon about five minutes of staring into the vast, endless fog to realize how difficult this particular rescue would be.Meanwhile, Martin had hardly even felt it when Peter sent him away, something that probably should have worried him more than it did.





	This Pull Is Astronomical

**Author's Note:**

> Literally the first fanfic I've ever finished and been satisfied enough to actually post publically, so please be gentle ;w;

It took Jon about five minutes of staring into the vast, endless fog to realize how difficult this particular rescue would be.

It was already _ very _ different from dealing with Daisy and the Buried. For one, he'd had time, back then. Time to think through his options, to mentally and physically prepare, to try and create an anchor– though he's still unsure if it was his rib or the statements that finally lead him out, in the end. 

Not only had he entered the Lonely without a second thought, the Lonely didn't even work like most of the other powers. There was no threat of violent death, no maiming or bloodshed beyond what was.. self-inflicted. Loneliness was a patient beast, one that wanted its prey to languish in isolation for as long as possible. 

Even if Jon had the means, there was nothing in this place to destroy. No monster holding the key to the exit, unless one counted the Lukas family, and Jon doubted any of them would be willing to help.

And the only anchor one had were the connections they'd made.

_ 'Turn left'_

_'Think of your mother'_

_ 'I love you'_

Jon had no one left on the outside like that. No living family, mainly dead or distant friends, and _Martin_ was—

Well. Martin wasn't _ on _ the outside.

In the end, their connection might not be enough to get them out, but Jon had to hope it would at least be enough to bring them together. The Eye could, hopefully, help with the rest.

So, he walked, occasionally reporting his thoughts and observations into the handheld tape recorder that, as it so often did, managed to followed him everywhere he went.

And he walked. And walked.

And walked.

* * *

Martin had hardly even felt it when Peter sent him away, something that probably should have worried him more than it did. 

But that didn't matter.

_ Nothing _ mattered.

Everything he'd done for the last _ year _, pushing everyone away, isolating himself.. it had all been utterly pointless.

The Extinction wasn't really a threat. Elias could have stopped Peter's manipulations at any time. Jon and the others had all been put in terrible danger for no reason, and Martin had just let it happen. Just _ had _ to know what this was all leading up to.

All to end up stuck in the middle of whatever was going on with Elias and Peter's weird drama-filled rivalry-slash-relationship, and then carted off to the Lonely like a child being sent to their bedroom while mummy and daddy had a screaming row in the kitchen.

He sighed, slumping down the side of one of the endless shelves within the foggy facsimile of the Archives.

What a complete waste of time.

* * *

The strangest thing, Jon eventually decided, was how dull the otherwise constant pangs of hunger had become.

He'd taken a risk to get into the Lonely. Had finally let that door in his mind open, just a crack, but it had still been enough to send his mind spinning, washed out to sea by the sudden tide of Knowing. Of _ power_.

Elias had asked him if he was scared, and his answer had been honest.

But it wasn't the _ Lonely _ he'd been afraid of...

Except, when he'd opened his eyes and gazed out into the wide expanse of fog, it was like nothing had even happened. He could still sense the ocean of knowledge that had briefly flooded into his mind, could still feel the ever present Eye watching over his shoulder. 

It just felt... muffled.

More than that, it was practically _ silenced_, as though he'd finally killed an irritating gnat that had been harassing his eardrum for the better part of a decade. The flood of knowledge was little more than a trickle in this empty place, the ocean in his mind barely even ankle deep.

Jon realized, suddenly, how simple it would be to just stay here. 

Out of sight, out of mind, far away from all the problems and threats of the outside world. No monsters or cults or rituals or difficult choices. No one to hurt.

Just him, and the fog.

He hated how tempting it was.

* * *

The first sound Martin heard besides his own faint breathing was a soft click, and an all-too familiar whirring noise.

"Ah, hello," he said, though it was mostly a reflex by this point. The tape recorder remained as silent a companion as ever, and he sighed.

"Not really sure what you're hoping to hear, you know. It's just me. Properly _ alone_, this time. It's not like there's anyone around who'll be able to listen to anything I record.."

The tape whired on, and Martin couldn't help but feel a little judged by the beat of silence that passed.

"Alright, so one of the Lukases could find it, but it's not as if I want to give them the satisfaction of listening to me ramble on."

He paused, struck by a thought.

"..but you don't _ like _ the Lukas's, do you? Not after that little stunt Peter tried to pull, surely."

The tape recorder offered no insight, but Martin imagined its whirring sounded eager.

"I.. suppose I did promise to explain things to Jon, when this was all over." He considered, "C-can't get much more 'over' than _ this _, right? So.. if there's even a chance he'll be able to get this, then I'm fine with that. Would be nice for my last words on tape be something that isn't just my death... better than Sasha or Tim got, at any rate."

He sighed again, sitting up just a little straighter so he could speak properly.

"Well. Alright then. Statement of Martin Blackwood, date, er, unknown, regarding… Well. Everything, really."

* * *

There'd been no landmarks, thus far— no empty church graveyard, no faceless crowd of lost souls, no sprawl of copy-pasted suburban houses.

It was just fog. White and gray and _ endless._

Jon had already tried yelling, screaming Martin's name and desperately hoping it'd be enough to lead the other man to him. All he had to show for it was a parched throat.

It was time to admit that he needed something else.

He needed to See.

It hadn't worked the last time he'd tried, when he'd thought about spying on Peter's scheme through the fog. The headache resulting from that failed attempt could generously be described as 'looking into the sun while suffering the worst hangover and being beaten over the head with a lead pipe'. 

It didn't matter how bad it would hurt, though. He didn't _ care_. Jon was going to find Martin or damn well die trying.

So he stepped back up to that door in his head and _ shoved._

Hot white pain lanced through his mind like a bolt of lightning. He stumbled to one knee, knowing in the way he always just Knew that he just needed to redirect it, force it to show him only what he needed to see. The knowledge was all tangled up in something, his mind's eye desperately trying to unravel the knot of information before it could slip between his fingers and leave him with nothing.

The floodwaters rose quickly, up from his ankles and past his shins.

That's when he caught it.

And there, shining against the endless fog, was a fine, silvery thread.

It started in his hand, fell to his feet, weaved to and fro. His mind's eye followed it for miles and miles, all the way to the familiar figure on the other end. Jon wasn't _ entirely _ sure how the Web had managed it, but he had a sinking feeling he'd need to thank Annabelle Cane once this was over.

The waters stilled. Something warm and sticky rolled down his cheeks, and his vision was blurred with red when he opened his eyes, but none of that mattered.

Martin was waiting for him.

Jon turned right, and _ ran_.

* * *

"...I'm already fading, you know. Peter told me about it once, how the Lonely worked. All the people who don't escape, or who don't.. take matters into their own hands. Once their fear's used up they just.. fade away. _ Fwsh_. Gone. Like they were never there."

Martin chuckled, dry as a desert.

"Thought he was just trying to scare me, honestly, keep me from losing connection to the Eye, getting too 'unbalanced'. Doubt much of it was true, but I-I, uh.. I can see through my hands, now. Like a ghost. Spooky stuff, right?"

He idly fidgeted, clenching and unclenching his fists, just barely feeling the way his nails bit into the flesh of his palms. 

"...I think I'm dying. Always thought it would hurt more, especially in this line of work."

He thought once again of Sasha and Tim, of Gertrude and Dekker and Leitner and everyone else who'd been claimed by the archives over the years.

"Small mercies, I suppose..."

* * *

It took some time before Jon noticed that something about the fog had finally changed.

Now, instead of endless whites and grays, there were hallways. Not the chaotic, endless mess that the Spiral employed, but plain, familiar halls lined with tall, neatly organized bookshelves and overflowing filing cabinets.

The Archives.

It was almost poetic, really, trapping Martin in the very place he'd already trapped himself.

And right there, at the edge of Jon's hearing, was a painfully familiar voice:

"_...whole face lit up... first smile I'd ever seen on... whole year of working with... all I could think... wanted to see it again... bunch of cheesy nonsense..."_

Jon felt his heart skip a beat, and took off at a run, following the sound of Martin's voice, and calling out with his own.

He nearly tripped over himself when he finally found what he was looking for.

"Martin!"

There, sat against one of the walls, was Martin Blackwood. He was almost easy to miss, blanketed under the thick layer of fog infesting the false Archives, voice muffled as though trapped behind a thick sheet of glass. 

But it was _ him_, not some faceless apparition or trick of the light, and that's what mattered.

Jon fell to his knees and reached out, trying to grab at Martin's shoulder, to shake him out of his Lonely stupor and reassure him of his imminent rescue. Yet his hand met no resistance, sending him stumbling forward and phasing straight through Martin's body. Jon scrambled backwards until his back thudded against the opposite wall, a chill running down his spine. 

If Martin had noticed his fumble, had felt Jon literally pass through his being, he showed no sign of it.

Some distant part of Jon's mind recalled the day of Prentiss' attack, of being trapped in the safe room and warily accusing Martin of being a ghost trapped inside the archives. It had been silly then, a moment of levity in what had been, at the time, the most dangerous and terrifying situation of their entire lives.

Now, though, it felt.. apt. Painfully so.

The words he'd followed here had fallen silent, though Jon could still see Martin's lips moving, forming words that had been replaced by a faint static.

Jon watched him for several minutes, noting the way Martin's expressions shifted, animated even despite the tired gloom surrounding him. He wondered what he was saying, who he could possibly be talking to out here in the fog.

Then he caught sight of the clunky little tape recorder nestled under Martin's transparent fingers, decidedly more solid than its owner as the tape inside whirred away. 

In a fit of curiosity, Jon tapped the 'Eject' button.

The top of the tape recorder snapped open, and Martin startled, frowning down at the device. 

_ 'What was that for?' _ His lips seemed to say before he shut it again, frowning as he continued recording whatever train of thought Jon had interrupted.

And that was just it– Jon _ had _ interrupted. He'd made _ contact_, no matter how indirect.

He scoffed a little. Bloody omnipresent tape recorders again, of course it was.

Still, it gave him an idea.

Jon frantically rewound the tape he'd been talking into, checking to make sure it still held his voice before ejecting it.

Once again he interrupted Martin's speech, working quickly to swap out the tapes before the other man could shut the lid on his fingers. He managed, but only because Martin took a long moment to glare at what he must have thought was a suddenly _ very _ judgemental tape recorder. 

A dozen questions about the situation sprang to mind– not the least of which being what this all might have looked like from Martin's perspective– but Jon instead focused his energy on silently praying to _ anything _ willing to listen that his efforts would help the situation rather than hinder it.

Just as Martin was about to start recording again, apparently unaware that the tape had been changed, Jon darted a hand out to hit 'Play' before it could be recorded over. His own voice rattled out of the tinny speakers just as he'd hoped, describing his initial thoughts regarding his endless wandering through the Lonely and desire to find Martin.

Martin froze in place, caught completely off-guard. Jon watched as his expression flickered through several different emotions– confusion, recognition, suspicion, hope, just to name a few.

"_J-Jon..?_"

This time Jon could _ hear _ Martin's voice. Still muffled, but audible nonetheless and without a hint of static. When he didn't respond to Jon's real voice, Jon reached over to mess with the recorder some more, rewinding until he heard himself saying Martin's name.

Then he rewound it again, and again, repeating it until Martin finally, _ finally _ looked up at him.

The fog that had been gently swirling around their bodies cleared, ever so slightly, and Jon caught the spark of recognition in Martin's eyes as they met his own.

Jon swallowed past the lump in his throat, scarcely daring to breathe. "Martin, I.. c-can you see me?"

"_J__on._ I-is that..." Martin's voice was even clearer now as he hastily rubbed his eyes, as though he thought Jon was just a trick of the light, some hallucination brought about by the isolation.

"It's me," Jon said, "I'm _ right here,_ Martin, I promise."

"H-how– why–" Martin stumbled over the words, eyes tracing every tired line of Jon's face. They settled, and his brow furrowed in concern. "What.. happened to your eyes?"

The bloody tears had already dried on his cheeks, the red streaks feeling tacky and flakey as Jon instinctively tried to wipe them away. Small price to pay, he thought with a sniffle, feeling a few proper saltwater tears of relief already building up. 

"Doesn't matter. Helped me find you." He let out a shaky chuckle, smiling despite himself. "_God_, I thought you'd— that I'd been—" He took a deep breath, composing himself, a feeling of stubborn determination settling into his bones. "I'm getting you out of here, Martin."

"Jon..."

"I don't know how, yet, but there _ has _ to be a way—"

"Jon."

"We know how others have escaped, so it can't be that hard to—"

"_Jon_!"

Jon startled, train of thought coming to a halt as he took in Martin's defeated expression.

"I'm.. I'm glad you came, really, but.. _l-__look_, I can't even.." Martin reached out, as though to brush his fingers against Jon's cheek. Jon instinctively reached up to hold it there with his own, but Martin's translucent hand phased through, leaving him with nothing but a faint, lingering chill.

"I'm sorry." Martin said, putting on a soft, sad smile, "But I think I'm just.. too far gone."

"B-but, we're _ talking_, aren't we?" Jon stammered, mentally flipping through every detail of the statements he'd recorded about the Lonely. None of them had ever been _too late_. "I thought– all t-the others who got out, they— and I thought _ you _ felt…"

"It.. it's not that simple. What Peter told me about this place, about those kind of.. of bonds_,_ of relationships, they have to be the same sort. Y-y'know," Martin glanced away with a slight grimace, "_Mutual_. And you.. don't care about me the way I do for you. Not really."

"I-I care!" Jon insisted, feeling his heart twist in his chest. To come so far and still fail, all because of some eldritch equivalent of _ fine print_ was telling him he wasn't good enough, presuming to know his feelings better than he did... "Of _ course _ I care, Martin."

"_Do you_, though?" Martin snapped, his shoulders hunched, "Or are you just afraid of being _ alone_? Of feeling guilty for losing someone to things you can't control, _ again_?"

Jon flinched, the words hitting like a swift punch to the gut. Martin had been getting– no. Martin had _ always _ been good at that. At cutting to the quick, getting straight to the point.

Martin winced, his posture relaxing slightly.

"Sorry, that.. that's not fair to you. I didn't mean to sound..." He sighed, "I _ know _ you care, Jon. You wouldn't be here if you didn't.. but I'm not going to lie to myself, either. This thing you're doing.. it's not about _ me_. It's no different from you getting Daisy out of the coffin, or trying to save the entire world from the rituals."

Jon… hadn't considered that angle, honestly. 

The accusation wasn't entirely wrong– losing Sasha and Tim had made him _ desperate _ to avoid losing anyone else. He'd already begged Daisy and Basira to not die before he'd run off into the tunnels, had preferred to see Melanie blind herself than continue to risk her life. Was Martin's situation really any different, or was it simply that he'd had the chance to see it coming? To wallow in what he'd been so _ sure _ would be another death on his conscience?

"I..."

And how long has he known about Martin's deeper feelings toward him and done nothing about it? Had he really grown to return them, or was he just looking for an excuse to prove he was still, in some small way, human enough _to_ _care_?

A beat of silence passed.

"If it helps," Martin eventually muttered, "Even if you _ did _ feel... well, the Lonely had a bit of a head start with me, and, er.. I think it only works if the other person is on the outside?"

"Yes, I.. I suspected something along those lines," Jon admitted, his voice soft. He sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "I just keep making things worse, don't I?"

Martin almost looked ready to argue on his behalf, but his expression shifted into something that said _ 'well…' _ and he just made a noncommittal sound, instead, muttering about how "there _ was _ the whole thing with the table.."

Instead of feeling offended, Jon let out a sharp bark of laughter, startling both of them.

Jon looked at Martin, really, truly _ looked._ Not with the Eye, but with his proper human eyes. Caught the fond-yet-exasperated smile that tugged at Martin's lips, the multitude of freckles dotting his cheeks, the way his nervous fingers kept fidgeting with the tape recorder. The soft, affectionate shine in his eyes, which Jon doubted he'd be worthy of even if he _ were _ fully human. All the little things he'd forced himself to ignore for so long...

God, he really was an idiot, wasn't he?

"...I want to."

"Hm?"

"I _ want _ to reciprocate." Jon explained. "With you. Or, I-I mean—" he groaned under his breath, massaging the bridge of his nose, "God, sorry, I– I'm terrible at this sort of thing, always have been, really. Bad enough my orientation tends to put people off, but even when I found someone accepting like Georgie I _ still _ managed to screw things up by pushing her away and acting like a complete ass."

Jon ran a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. "Not like that's _ changed,_ any. I honestly don't know how you've _ ever _ liked me. How you could _ still _ like me, when I'm… well." he gestured vaguely to himself. 

A monster, his mind supplied. A disaster, a—

"I like you because you're a _ good person,_ Jon." Martin said, laying a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "No matter how many mistakes you make, or how much you try to deny it."

Despite the chill of the fog, Jon felt his whole face heat. No matter what he'd done in the past, he hardly felt worthy of such praise, of Martin's ceaseless, genuine belief in him. He covered Martin's hand with his own, glancing away from the other man's far too ernest expression.

There was a beat of silence as they both went shock still. 

Martin's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull as they took in the sight of his hand– still transparent, yet very clearly clinging to the soft fabric of Jon's vest. Jon's own grip tightened until his knuckles went white.

"I–" Martin started, blinking wildly, "Can you _ feel that_?"

"Yes," Jon confirmed, just as baffled.

Without really thinking about it, Jon weaved their fingers together as his face broke into a wry grin. "Just look at us. We're trapped in the Lonely, a realm literally _ dedicated _ to the horror of isolation... and we're _ talking._ Talking and _ touching _ and—!"

He laughed again. 

"And.. I think that means we're _ winning_. Now come on," he declared, standing up and carefully helping Martin do the same until they were both stood on their own two feet, never once letting go of Martin's hand. "We're getting the hell out of here."

Martin just looked awestruck, tears beading at the corner of his eyes, something like hope written in his expression.

"Together..?"

"Together."

"_Well,_" another voice cut in, "isn't this touching?"

It was the first time Jon had seen the man in person, but he didn't need the Eye's help to recognize that it was Peter Lukas who now clapped his hands, his tone mockingly congratulatory as he stepped out of the dense fog. Jon stepped in front of Martin, who was still transparent, still struggling to stay on his feet.

Peter continued on, casually leaning against a wall. "I'll admit, it didn't take you as long as I expected, but Elias seemed rather confident. A shame you're still playing along with his little game, though."

Jon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you suppose he never intervened? Never warned you about the dangers you were in? Because you needed to _ learn._" Peter chuckled, "And what better way to do so except through pain? A few bites from the Hive here, a stab or two from the Spiral there, a lovely little burn from the Desolation.. you see where I'm going with this, yes?"

Jon blinked, keenly aware of the many, many scars he'd collected over the years of working at the Institute. "I.. but _ why_?"

"Hm. Think of it as studying for an end-of-year exam. And Elias _ so _ wants you to graduate..."

"The Watcher's Crown." Martin breathed, horror edging into his voice. Jon stiffened at the mention of the Beholding's secretive ritual, a chill running down his spine.

Peter smiled, a shark catching the scent of blood in the water. "_Precisely._"

Without warning, the walls and bookshelves all around them vanished, dissolving into a fine mist as the empty fog quickly rolled in to replace them.

"Now, truth be told, I'd rather avoid contributing to the pile, but I'm afraid I still have some unfinished business with Martin here. Must keep up my end of the bargain, after all."

Martin cried out, a shrill static buzzing through the fog as it enveloped him and sent him crumpling back onto the ground. Jon tried to catch him, but Martin's body phased straight through his arms, all their progress gone in an instant. He could see Martin's mouth moving, trying to say something, but all he heard was a choking mess of static as the fog moved in to swallow him whole.

"No, no no no, _ Martin!_"

Peter kept smiling.

"Oh, think of it this way, Jon: a little heartbreak is _ hardly _ the worst thing to happen to you, right?"

All at once, something in Jon's mind _ shifted_.

_ **" No. "** _

The door in his mind swung open, and he could feel the deluge sweep through. What he'd already allowed to become a knee-deep puddle surged forward until it enveloped him entirely.

He could feel himself drown.

And in that moment, each and every crease of scar tissue, every pale line of healed skin, split open to reveal a bright, unblinking _ eye._

With the connection reestablished, the Archivist's hunger returned in full force, nearly knocking him to the ground. He was so _ weak,_ the Knowing threatening to overpower him as more bloody tears began to leak from the corner of every single new eye, staining his skin and clothes red.

But he forced them open. Forced them to _ see._

And he. Saw. Everything.

Everything Peter Lukas was, is, or ever would be. Every lie, every scrap of history, every insignificant little secret hidden behind the protective layers of fog and static.

Every hint of _ fear _ in the man's eyes.

The Archivist stared into Peter Lukas, and _ fed._

* * *

The pain that had taken hold of Martin had stopped as soon as Peter fell to his knees from the sheer force of the Beholding's power. 

He held the tape recorder tight to his chest as the Archivist took Peter's statement by force, ripping the words from his mind and reforging them in his own, booming voice. The statement echoed off the curved walls of the Panopticon, the choking fog of the Lonely fading away until nothing of the empty realm remained, including Peter. 

The Archivist finished its unorthodox meal with a comparatively subdued: 

"_S__tatement ends_."

One by one, the new, inhuman eyes dotting his body closed, becoming mere scars once more, until all that remained were the two human ones on his face. 

Jon blinked. Once. Twice. 

Then he folded in on himself with a faint whimper, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

Martin scrambled to catch him, somehow managing to keep Jon from cracking his head against the ground. His own exhaustion meant they sank to the floor anyway, however, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of how _ solid _ he felt without the fog constantly numbing his body and mind. 

Every sensation felt amplified, from the cold stone of the Panopticon's floor, to the warmth of Jon's motionless body cradled in his arms. Martin was on the verge of hyperventilating as he searched for the man's pulse, keenly remembering Peter's snide comment about a broken heart, however figurative it was meant to be.

He found it– weak, but steady and _ existant,_ which was already an incredible step up from the Unknowing incident. 

Overwhelmed with relief, Martin just sat there, the side of his head pressed against Jon's chest, letting the steady rhythm soothe his frazzled mind.

"..on? Jon!" A voice suddenly echoed from down the tunnels, and Martin furrowed his brow. That sounded like...

"Basira?"

"_Martin?!_" Basira's voice grew closer, louder, until she staggered out into the open space of the Panopticon, her heavy-duty torch lighting up the vast room. The former cop looked more worn out than usual, but largely unharmed considering the chaos she and Daisy had been forced to deal with.

He blinked, realizing exactly what was wrong with this picture.

"Wait, where's Daisy..?" 

Basira flinched. "I... she's gone."

"Oh." Martin blinked, a weight sinking deep in his gut. "God, Basira, I'm _ so _ sorry–"

"It's _ fine— _ " Basira snapped, then took a steadying breath. "Well. No, it's not fine. But it's what she wanted, in the end. _ That's _ what matters." She looked around, apparently taking in the sight of the cells for the first time– old diagrams really didn't do the place justice. "Been no sign of Peter since the attack... I take it Jon got through to you, then?"

"Something like that, yeah, but–" Martin frowned, "Wait, wait, h-how long has it been?"

"About a week? News finally stopped bothering us about the shooting, for now, so '_Elias_' sent me down here to fetch Jon." Despite the venom lacing Jonah Magnus's stolen name, Basira managed to give Martin a wry grin. "You know he thought Jon'd be alone down here? Bastard's still underestimating you."

Martin scoffed under his breath. Sounded about right.

The body in his arms stirred, and Martin nearly jumped out of his skin as Jon blearily opened his eyes, squinting in the light of Basira's torch. 

"Martin..?" Jon wheezed, his words slurred and sluggish as he tried to sit up, "Weren't we... How did I..?"

"_Shh_, it's okay," Martin interrupted, pulling him into a tight hug. "We're out, we're safe." 

Jon fell silent, hesitantly returning the gesture, his shaky, scarred hands clutching at the back of Martin's shirt.

Martin risked a brief glance at Basira, who immediately looked away with what he recognized as a faint expression of envy. For her own sake, Martin silently hoped that Daisy wasn't quite as gone as Basira implied. He knew from experience now that people often did some utterly _ stupid things _when they lost the people they cared about.

After giving them a moment, Basira cleared her throat. "So. What happened with you two, then?"

"A _ lot_." Jon managed.

"But not now," Martin insisted, glancing at the tiny room where the body of Jonah Magnus was still entombed, still _ watching_. "Not _here_." Basira nodded, stepping closer to help Martin get Jon back on his feet and leading them out into the tunnels.

Whatever Elias had planned for Jon and the Watcher's Crown, they were going to need a plan.

And they weren't going to lose each other again.

**Author's Note:**

> Later on they have a moment where Jon's like "wait you're telling me I _ate_ Peter??" and Martin just goes "_Well......_"
> 
> Title is in reference to 'Astronomical' by Svrcina. Less of a Jonmartin theme and more a pure Jon theme, but still. Considered using a lyric 'Mr. FEAR' by Siamés, too... titles are very hard to choose OTL
> 
> Anyway y'all catch me on tumblr as [Disappearedsock](http://disappearedsock.tumblr.com) / [Disappeareddraws](http://disappeareddraws.tumblr.com)


End file.
